


Keys to Their Castles in the Air

by lovesrogue36



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Champagne, Community: kink_bingo, Desk Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Table Sex, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-14 11:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1263841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel interrupts Miles and Bass in a compromising moment. (Rachel's point of view on "Keys to the Kingdom," written by buttercups3.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Keys to the Kingdom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259488) by [buttercups3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3). 



> B begged (yes, begged) me to write Rachel's POV on her fic, so here we go!

I’m leaning back against the double doors to my room, gripping the doorknob with one hand so it’s digging into the small of my back. It locks from the outside but Bass hasn’t locked it at all in weeks so it rattles behind me with every thrust of my fingers inside myself. They’ve been fighting all afternoon, shouting obscenities at each other and breaking glass, but now… I don’t know what Miles is doing to Bass but the sounds filtering in under my door are downright pornographic.

“So close, Miles,” I hear him gasp and suddenly I have the inexplicable urge to witness that. To see what someone else looks like when Miles has them on the edge. To remember what I’m missing. “Yeah, yeah. Like that,” he’s still half-shouting as I wipe my fingers on my pants and drape the hem of my blouse down over my undone zipper.

I fling the doors open before I can change my mind. I’ve listened to them fuck so many times; I’ve wanted to _see_ it so many times. The reality of it knocks the air out of my lungs for a moment, my hands clutched tight on the doorknobs. I’m shocked by how… _jealous_ I abruptly find myself.

Bass is sprawled in his desk chair, green leather creaking under his weight, and his head lolls back in abandon. His mouth hangs open with obscene moans, hips twitching. Miles must be under the desk and, you know, it’s a little cliché of them but I can’t look away.

There’s a _thwack_ from beneath the desk and I wince. They both clearly know I’m here, though Bass can’t quite seem to focus his eyes on me or anything else, still coming. _Christ,_ Miles must have had him worked up. His gaze darts under the desk and he laughs, sounding a bit delirious.

I release the doors, feeling a rush of emotions I can’t quite catalog and walk to the front of the desk, if only for a sense of purpose. Folding my arms under my breasts, I narrow my eyes at Bass, lips pursed. He slouches further in his chair, if that’s even possible, and I can just see a hint of his cock lying between his legs.

“Rachel. You startled Miles. I think he’s given himself a traumatic brain injury on my desk,” he says, dry and sarcastic. So that’s what Bass Monroe sounds like after an orgasm. I shouldn’t find that quite so interesting, I suppose.

“Bass, you fucking prick, did you not lock her door?” The voice is muffled but it sends a shock of icy anger through me. Who does he think he _is?_ He thinks I should just have to sit in that little room day in and day out, listening to them fight and fuck and fritter away lives and money like they know what the hell they’re doing?

“Bass never locks my door anymore,” I snap suddenly. “You two are such idiots, barking at each other for days, throwing what: lamps? Tumblers of whiskey and ice? But instead of succeeding in killing each other, now I’m being subjected to the lurid yowls of Bass getting off! For God’s sake. I’ve had enough. Kill me, throw me in a cell, but _enough_ of this.”

My intensity startles even me but I don’t back down. It feels good to yell. Feels good to yell _at them._

“You jealous?”

I don’t think Bass even realizes he’s asked the question as his chair rolls back a foot and Miles clambers up from under the desk. He’s beat red down into the collar of his uniform and I can just make out Bass’ come splattered on his face and in his hair. It flusters me, the sight and the idea. Suddenly, I want to come like that, like Miles always used to make me come. Uninhibited and shouting his name.

I ball my hands into fists, trying to gather myself, though they’re so absorbed in each other they hardly notice my lack of composure. Miles is glaring at him and trying to avoid looking at me, his pants bulging. Bass is fixing his uniform, several buttons missing from his jacket and pants, and his eyes keep darting to Miles’ obvious arousal.

My hands finally land on my hips and I clear my throat, arching an eyebrow. My voice sounds scratchier than I’d like when I do speak. “What if I said yes?”

“Huh?”

I nearly roll my eyes at Bass’ inattention though I’m having trouble keeping myself from staring at Miles too, as debauched as he looks. “Yes, I’m jealous. Clearly. Or I wouldn’t have come in when I knew you were having the snot fucked out of you.”

Bass stammers at my uncharacteristic crudeness, staring up at me with his wrists limp and dangling off the arms of his chair. “Well be my guest,” he says finally, gesturing at Miles. “Far be it for me to get in the way of your needs.”

I swallow hard and Miles turns to stare at me, his dark eyes wide in the sunlit room. I can’t really be considering-

But before my common sense can kick back in, I’m stepping around the desk and taking full advantage of the offer, however off-hand it might have been. Miles looks cornered but as soon as my hands brush his shoulders, he’s cupping my face in his hands and I know he wants this. With that tiny admission, that vague permission, I crush myself to him blindly, one hand wrapped around the back of his neck and the other cupped between his legs. I knead him not-so-gently, nails scraping against metal zipper and my tongue tracing the edges of his teeth.

Miles guides his hands down over the sweep of my neck, the swell of my breast and into the small of my back. His middle finger dips into the crevasse in the center of my back, pressing me harder into him with our tongues battling and stroking, before cupping my ass. We aren’t quite as young as we used to be but he still lifts me like it’s nothing and I wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, grinding my hips against his.

He carries me across the room without looking and for a moment, I all but forget Bass is still here, slouched at his desk. I’m ashamed how easily I fall back into this, even after all these years, but Miles’ pull is irresistible, as corny as that sounds. He sets me down on the long table by the windows and I’m immediately tugging at my clothes, pulling my blouse off over my head and reaching around to unhook my bra.

Miles is just blocking me from Bass’ prying, jealous gaze, (Bass shouldn’t look so put out; he _offered_ , after all), and he slides a fingertip over the edges of my undone zipper, his other hand braced beside me on the table. Ducking his head to press a faint kiss to my jaw, he whispers, “Love it when you’re eager,” in a way that makes me shiver.

I shove him off, kicking my pants and underwear away, and lift my legs up so I’m kneeling expectantly on the table. My eyes dart to the hall doors, realizing for the first time that I hope they at least remembered to lock _those_ , as Miles unbuckles his belt with a clatter. He’s unzipping his pants and my mouth waters a little as he lifts himself onto the table almost fully dressed, dirty boots planted on the smooth, polished surface.

It stings a little that this is as vulnerable as he’s willing to be, his uniform still clinging to him when I’ve just stripped down to nothing, but I know Miles doesn’t think like that. He’s turned on and I’m an outlet for that so he might as well be efficient about it but that doesn’t mean he’s being intentionally dismissive either. He takes me by the hand, leading me forward until I straddle his hips. I dip a hand between us, nudging his hard cock with my knuckles, and he grips my thighs, barking at Bass for a condom.

Bass stares at him for long seconds, scoffing in protest or disgust or indignation or- I’ll be honest, I don’t really care. I’m too caught up in the feel of wool and metal buttons and _Miles_ between my legs. But suddenly Bass is standing there, a condom fisted in his long fingers, and he’s staring at us like he didn’t mean to suggest we should actually just have at it in his office.

I don’t care about his inner struggle right now so I just put out my hand, clearing my throat, and Bass reluctantly lays the condom in my palm. They’re a perk of the capital, (the Militia hoards them like diamonds), though not one I’ve had the pleasure to take advantage of until now. I rip open the foil and, letting Miles’ pull his cock out, unroll the rubber onto him. Bass turns away, quiet for once, and maybe I feel a little bit guilty about intruding on their moment but then Miles is guiding me down onto him and all I can focus on is the stretch and burn of his cock inside me after so many years.

I hear myself whimper, hands braced on Miles’ covered chest as he reaches an arm out for Bass.

“No, stay,” he croaks out. Their fingers twine together and god, it’s a little sick how much they need each other but I find it does something to me too. Something like a pinch of unbidden arousal and jealousy, all tied up in how much I _want_ to hate them but never quite _can_.

I shift my hips, an experiment, and _oh_ , he feels as good as I remember. By the time Bass migrates around to kneel behind me, I’m riding Miles without shame, bouncing so he slides in and out of me and drawing incoherent groans from him. It’s slippery but not without an edge of friction and I don’t think I realized how wound up I already was. Bass wraps his forearm around my torso and presses me into him, his soft cock nudging the curve of my ass and my breasts spilling over the deep blue of his uniform. He untangles his other hand from Miles’ grip, who immediately grabs my thighs, hips jerking under me. Bass dives his fingers straight to my clit, rubbing hard circles as if he knows what I like. I almost wonder if Miles has _told_ him what I like but he’s so tight-lipped about everything, I just can’t imagine him spilling about sex.

“Mmm, Bass, harder,” I hear myself beg and maybe that’s pathetic but I’m clenching on Miles and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to come this desperately. I’ve deprived myself of Miles on principle for so long and maybe I was always a fool to think I could have him without Bass.

“Uhh, Bass finish her, I’m gonna come,” Miles manages, eyes closed to slits and his cock twitching inside me like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Say my name again, you assholes,” Bass growls against my cheek.

I’m too far gone to care that I’m begging ‘General Monroe,’ of all people, for my release so his name trips off my lips without protest: “Bass, _Bass!_ ”

Miles is trembling and his hand slips off my thigh to thud on the wooden table, his body lurching. “You fucking cockwad, Bass, I said finish her off!”

That must be enough for his ego because Bass spreads his fingers around Miles’ cock where it disappears inside me, his thumb grinding into me. My head tips back against Bass’ shoulder, teeth in my lip to strangle off the moans I know I can’t control, as Miles thrusts up into me, lifting my hips off the flat surface. The candelabras on the table rattle and we’re all gasping out of sync, Bass’ hand braced at my hip so I don’t slip off as Miles comes deep inside me; I’m suddenly so grateful for the precious condom, because wringing him out until he’s spent has always been one of my favorite feelings in the world.

When I gather myself enough to open my eyes, they’re holding hands again, Miles’ tongue poking out between his lips, and isn’t that all just so goddamn sweet? I swallow, my mouth feeling cottony, and reach up to run my fingers through Miles’ dark, glossy hair, still flecked with now dry, sticky come.

“I have a suggestion, boys,” I say, shifting my hips with his cock still inside me. “Fuck more, fight less.”

Bass chuckles darkly against my shoulder, stroking a thumb over my nipple. I’m not sure if he agrees or if he actually likes the fighting. It’s hard to tell with Bass. He vacillates between contempt, wild irrationality, tenderness, fervent emotion, sarcasm.

Miles opens an eye reluctantly under a dark, full eyebrow, just barely flecked with gray. “Are we that loud?”

“Yes. In both cases.” I sigh, their fighting and fucking my usual soundtrack these days. Though, admittedly, it’s a less grating soundtrack when I’m involved.

I brush Bass’ hand off my breast and he disengages from Miles too, wiping his fingers on his already-ruined jacket. “Great. So who wants to get trashed on all this early twentieth-century champagne Jeremy nicked from some rich douche bag’s cellar?” He waves a hand at the wooden crates piled under the window, all stamped with their silly little M.

Miles vaguely raises a hand, pressing a kiss to my arm before lifting me off him and discarding his condom.

I settle back, still naked, with my elbows on the wood table, now smeared with the aftermath of _us_ and scoff in disgust. They’re _boys_ , playing soldiers in this giant dollhouse of theirs. “Don’t you two have a kingdom to run?”

“Yes, but we generally run it drunk.” If I have to concede something about Bass I still like, (other than, apparently, his talented fingers), it would have to be his blunt honesty.

I shake my head, letting Miles tug me against his side with one arm. “Okay, I’m in.”

Bass cocks his head at me and I shoot back a thin smile, resting my cheek against Miles’ chest, his arm wrapped around my shoulders and his fingers in my hair. I can’t imagine what Bass thinks of me right now, though his face is usually all-too-readable. I’m only here because you keep me here, Bass. Keep your jealous scrutiny to yourself.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is raunchy and maybe a little out of character, guys, but it was fun nonetheless. Apologies for the delay!
> 
> Kink Bingo Prompt: Wet/Messy/Dirty

“This isn’t very romantic,” I complain dryly, holding up two glass tumblers for Bass to fill halfway with the last of our second champagne bottle. I’m seated on the settee, tucked into Miles’ arm and naked but for Bass’ come-stained jacket on my shoulders.

“Yeah, well, it’s all we got. You’ll just have to deal, princess.” Bass pours himself a glass and sinks down beside me, settling my bare feet in his lap. He’s stripped down to a cotton shirt and pants, his boots discarded on the floor, and I can feel him growing just slightly hard under the arch of my foot.

Champagne sloshes in the glass as I hand one back to Miles, our fingers brushing. After what we just did, you wouldn’t think that would make me shiver like a schoolgirl, but it does. He notices and quirks a half-smile at me, stroking the back of his finger down my cheek.

I sip at my champagne, though I’m already pleasantly tipsy, and sink into him a little further. “I could get used to this,” I mumble, without bothering to think about the implications of _getting used_ to Philadelphia.

Neither of them calls me on it but Miles presses a kiss to the top of my head, whispering something about, “That can probably be arranged.”

Bass kneads at the bottom of my foot with his thumb and I keen in pleasure, embarrassingly pliant under their hands. It’s dangerous, being this relaxed with them, two of the most brutal men on the continent. But when I look at them, though I would never admit this aloud, I don’t see the generals who have terrorized the East Coast for years. I see my Marines, the boys I bargained with the devil for, if only he’d bring them home safe.

Shit, I _am_ drunk.

I tip my head back against his shoulder and look up into dark eyes. Miles doesn’t even look a little buzzed; I suppose he has a tolerance for 100 proof whiskey or some other manly concoction so a few glasses of champagne aren’t going to touch him. He smirks at me and I can’t help myself. “Kiss me.”

He’s happy to oblige, ducking his head with his hand on my cheek and catching my lips. Miles is a wonderful kisser and I don’t have to be drunk to know that. He kisses like he fights. On our way to Philly, the division got into a little skirmish (Miles says things like that now: ‘the division got into a little skirmish’) and I saw him take out six guys with a blade nearly as wide as my arm. I was ashamed at the time for how turned on I was by the sight of him covered in dirt and blood with a sword dangling from his hand, shouting orders and organizing his men.

I almost laugh against his mouth: _shame._

Anyway, he kisses like he fights. All aggression and passion but sort of precise, like he knew exactly how he was going to take you out from the moment you walked into the room. His tongue’s in my mouth and I grind my wedding ring into the glass tumbler in my hand, fearing for a second that it might shatter, I’m squeezing it so tight.

Bass’ fingers have moved from my foot to my ankle, skimming delicately up the tender skin of my calf. It’s too much, having both of their hands on me with so much room to think, not like it was on the table: all three of us just tied up in lust and need, not bothering to ponder the consequences. I twist my free hand in Miles’ shirt, his arm draped over my shoulders, glass dangling next to my head. Gasping against his mouth, my teeth scraping his bottom lip, I push him off with a moan.

“Open another bottle,” I say breathlessly, licking the tart, bubbly taste of champagne off my lips.

Miles chuckles, shrugging me off so he can stand, but not before stealing two more kisses that nearly devolve back into battle. Bass hooks a hand around my waist and drags me into his lap.

“The lady ordered a fresh bottle,” he barks, eyes twinkling at me. He seems to have warmed to this idea of _me_ in the midst of _them_ , more than I might have expected, really.

I settle my knees on either side of him, arms draping over his shoulders. “You know, I think you’re both wearing far too much clothing still,” I say aloud, even as his hands slide beneath the heavy woolen weight of the jacket, over my naked hips and waist. It’s a little disconcerting to have someone new touch me, when all I’ve known for so many years is Mathesons.

Bass is staring at me like he wants to take me apart and see what’s inside and I imagine him wondering what it feels like to have Miles inside me before I realize: _right. He knows what it feels like._

The idea of Miles’ cock inside him, inside- It’s like a rope around my neck, choking off my air and- He kisses me, abruptly dragging his tongue over the seam of my lips until I let go of that train of thought and let him in. Bass, he tastes like lemon drops, and it’s so out of place in this bloody personality that I almost laugh. I lean into him instead, moaning softly, and his arms wind around me beneath the jacket, palm edging over the ridges of my spine.

My hands fist in his shirt, tongue sliding along his, and he pulls away just long enough for me to wrench the shirt off over his head. He’s shuddering suddenly, like all this watching me and Miles has taken him right to the edge again. He cups my ass, groaning into the curve of my throat. I lift my head, meeting Miles’ eyes across the room as he’s retrieving another bottle of champagne from the wooden crate under the window.

He holds my stare, lips quirking up slightly at the no-doubt blissed-out look on my face. I can feel Bass’ tongue taking my pulse and eyelashes fluttering against my cheeks.

Well, Miles said he likes it when I’m ‘eager.’

I moan in protest as Bass lifts me off his lap and thrusts me into the pillows beside us. “Don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of things,” he mumbles as a vague explanation I don’t quite follow, tugging my bottom lip between his teeth and swiping two fingers between my legs.

Shivering, I clamp my thighs around his hand, fingers diving into his curls, but he straightens anyway and steps around the couch. I heave a sigh, eyes drifting shut as I sink back into the pillows in dismay. Never do I remember being so insatiable. With Ben, everything was comfortable and easy, never passionate. During our affair, Miles and I were constantly frantic, but rushed, never enough time to satisfy each other as much as we wanted.

There’s a _bang_ that jolts me out of my thoughts and by the time I lift my head, eyebrows knit together, (they haven’t shot each other, have they?), Miles is frantically sucking foam off the mouth of the bottle, the cork god knows where. But of far more interest is Bass: standing in the middle of the room with his arms out, several condoms clutched in one hand and champagne dripping down his face and chest.

My god, that’s an enticing sight.

I clap a hand over my mouth but Miles is already laughing, that rare sound I can’t help but savor, half-choking on the alcohol he’s salvaged. It bubbles out of me too in an uncharacteristic giggle born of French champagne and good, hard fucking (pardon my French.)

Bass wipes the champagne from his eyes, long lashes blinking in indignation. “You son of a bitch, that’s really expensive champagne!”

Miles only laughs harder. “It’s not like we _paid_ for it.”

“This is going to be a bitch to clean up,” he gripes, gesturing at the splattered floor, but Miles pointedly runs a hand through his hair, still sticky with dry come and Bass has the courtesy to flush.

“Oh relax, you uptight bastard.” Miles rolls his eyes and slaps a hand around the back of Bass’ neck, dragging him in close and slanting his mouth over his.

I watch his tongue flick in Bass’ mouth, watch long, graceful hands slide up over Miles’ shoulder blades, watch them melt into each other in familiarity. The way they screamed earlier, I never would have expected this kind of tenderness from them.

Finally, Miles pulls back, nipping at Bass’ lips, and takes his hand, the champagne bottle still dangling from Miles’ free hand, condoms still clutched in Bass’. “Come on,” he rumbles, quiet enough I almost don’t hear it, “We’ll clean you up.”

Miles shoves him down beside me on the couch and I reach a hand up to run my fingers through his dripping wet curls, still grinning. I duck my head, running the flat of my tongue over Bass’ collarbone. I realize it’s exactly what Miles wants me to do, but with a half-naked Bass in front of me and a bottle of expensive champagne racing through my system, I can’t bring myself to be defiant.

He shudders and the tendons in his neck stand out with restraint. You’d think I licked his cock, the way he’s suddenly trembling under me, or at least that’s what I think until I realize Miles has a hand between Bass’ legs, kneading him through his pants.

His mouth is sealed to Bass’ pulse point, sucking and biting at the skin there. I draw a reedy little gasp, quickly coming to the conclusion that seeing the two of them together really _does something for me._ Miles catches my eye and his lips twitch into a tiny smile as Bass drapes an arm over my shoulders and gives a loud, desperate moan. As if the guards needed one more confirmation what we’re up to.

I’m still sitting there mute, my lips parted and my hand on Bass’ chest, when Miles grabs his wrist and hauls him up off the couch, much to both our protests. He ignores us, passing me the half-full champagne bottle and knocking Bass to the floor. I sprawl on the couch, Bass’ jacket hanging lewdly open around me and my head propped up on a hand. Tipping the bottle up to my lips so sweet, tart alcohol pours onto my tongue, I watch as Miles braces himself on his hands over Bass, licking the sticky champagne from his chest.

He paints wide swathes across Bass’ chest, muscles hard and tan under the scars; he circles a nipple with the tip of his tongue and Bass’ hands tangle in dark waves, his legs falling open and his hips twitching in complaint. I can feel myself growing wet at the sight and my hand tightens on the bottle as Miles tugs Bass’ pants open. He shoots me a look, eyebrow raised. “You just gonna sit up there and watch?”

I only hesitate a moment before scrambling off the couch and shrugging out of the jacket so I’m completely bare when I lay out beside them on the rug we’re no doubt about to ruin. The champagne bottle is somewhere at our heads; Bass reaches an arm out for me, curling my naked body up against his and kissing me like I’m all he wants right now even though I know damn well that’s an illusion.

By the time Miles has Bass’ pants off, they’re both hard. My fingers itch to wrap around Bass’ cock, all stretched pink and tempting, but Miles claims it first, jerking him once, twice. Bass winces, smacking the other man’s head. “Christ, Miles, try a little spit, would you?”

I slide my hand over his bare chest, glancing down his body at Miles with the unfathomable desire to see Miles spit in his hand and draw it over Bass. Instead, he smirks up at me and squeezing my calf, gestures for the bottle. I arch an eyebrow, passing it down to him; it dawns on me what he intends seconds before he liberally splashes champagne across Bass.

Bass’ hips jerk and he yelps in shock, yanking on Miles’ hair. “ _Fuck!_ You ass-Ngh-” His complaints dissolve almost immediately into unintelligible moans as Miles closes his lips over the champagne-drenched cock in front of him. Bass’ head thunks against the floor and I’m as jealous as I was an hour ago when I first let myself into the office. Bass screws his eyes shut even tighter, graceful hand gripping my ass for balance, and I barely have to consider it before I’m pushing his hand down between my legs instead. He’s not very coordinated, thoroughly distracted as he is, but I rock against his fingers, feeling the squelch of champagne in the rug as it runs off his hips.

The alcohol smears on my thighs and I catch a few drops on my fingertips, drawing them across Bass’ chest. He shudders, his free hand fisted in Miles’ hair and two blunt fingers pressing inside me as I follow the drips of champagne with my tongue. Below me, Miles is sucking loudly, his cheeks hollowed, but he brushes my clit with the backs of his fingers and I flinch. I think it’s an accident at first but then he does it again and I don’t know how he can possibly still have that much focus when his cock looks about ready to burst out of his unbuttoned pants but I’m not about to complain.

Miles grinds a knuckle into my clit, Bass’ fingers slicking irregularly between my legs with his bare arm anchored along the curve of my back. The rug is worn and wet under me, champagne streaked across my thighs and stomach. I tremble, hooking my bare foot between them and nudging Miles’ trapped cock through cotton and wool. His hand slaps around my ankle but he doesn’t stop me, just squeezes.

Bass shouts a jumble of expletives and curses and prayers I can’t quite make out as he comes, his fingers slamming inside me (involuntarily) and Miles’ forearm pressed into his stomach to keep him flat to the floor. I muffle a moan with teeth in my bottom lip, nails digging into Bass’ chest until Miles finally lifts his head. He drags himself up, pinning me between them: Miles, hard and desperate, with all his weight on me and Bass, gasping and digging the heel of his free hand into his eyes.

Sticky fingers tangle in my hair and Miles tugs my head back, mouth sealing over mine. I jerk in surprise, though I should have known, Bass’ come still warm and tart between us. It trickles over my lips and maybe that should be off-putting but when his tongue sweeps into my mouth again, I lap at him eagerly. It’s not exactly champagne and, honestly, it’s not exactly my favorite flavor either, but there’s something so raw about tasting one of them on the other-

Miles swats at Bass’ wrist without pulling away and he reluctantly pulls out of me, wet hand sliding up over my ass to the small of my back (though I think he’s more reluctant to be ordered around than to let go of me.) Already reaching into his undone pants, Miles palms his cock and I hear him fumble on the couch for a nearly-forgotten foil wrapper. My hand curls up around Bass’ shoulder, the other pressed tight to his chest, as Miles rips the wrapper open and rolls the condom onto himself.

I bite my lip in anticipation, Miles’ hands squeezing my hips just before he pushes inside me. I can’t help the moan that escapes as he sinks in deep, though I stifle the sound in Bass’ chest, grinding my hips against his thigh. It’s only a few wet, slapping thrusts before I’m coming, clenching on his cock and clinging to Bass, my knees scraping on the rug.

Miles slides his hands up to cup my breasts tenderly, pressing his forehead to my shoulder blade and fucking me through it until I’m completely drained and limp between them. Bass’ fingers trail up the back of my hand, his eyes closed. Miles draws a soft grunt from Bass with every thrust, slamming me against him, until he comes inside me, collapsing on top of us.

We both groan aloud, momentarily crushed, until he slides out of me, rolling off onto his side with a sigh. Miles throws his arm across me, burying his face in my hair. His fingers lace with Bass’ on my hip, mouth sticky with alcohol and come on my shoulder. “ _Fuck_.”

“You can say that again,” Bass rumbles under me and I purse my lips, suddenly longing for a bath. We all smell like sweat and sugar and it’s a less flattering combination than one might think.

“And you didn’t even want me here,” I mutter petulantly into Bass’ armpit.

“What are you talking about? I offered him to you.”

Miles grunts in mild protest at that but doesn’t lift his head.

“Bullshit.”

Bass huffs a laugh, kissing the top of my head. I’m not sure if it’s meant to be patronizing or just conciliatory but I can’t really bring myself to care either way.

 


End file.
